The Tale of the Two Lords Fair
by The Galadhrim
Summary: What becomes of Legolas after his beloved Elessar has died and he has sailed away to the Undying Lands? The ending to his tale may not be as joyous as many people think.


(( _Prompt_: Lost in Paradise by Evanescence. _Pairings_: Aragorn/Legolas. _Disclaimer_: I am obviously not affiliated in any way with the Tolkien estate. I just like writing~ _Obligatory plea for feedback_: Please review! As someone who's been around for a while myself, I know it only takes a few moments to leave a note after reading and it means a lot. Improvements can always be made, after all!

With that said, please enjoy. ))

* * *

Never had the leaves of Valinor fallen from their trees. In spring as in fall, in summer as in winter, they hung quivering from gold-barked boughs, each breath of wind that rippled through them becoming a song with their beauty. Pillows of green moss lay strewn across the forest floor. In the dark places, where the canopy was too thick to let light to trickle through, fireflies and the bright eyes of woodland creatures lit the shadows. Beauty abounded. No dark things stirred; no evil woke; no orcs or goblins or wargs raised their heads for indeed, there were none to do so.

Paradise, they called it, and paradise it was.

Yet all the beauty of Arda was not enough to console a grieving heart. Creases born out of long hours of weeping lined Legolas' fair face. His hands had washed so many tears from his eyes that even the color had been scrubbed out of his skin. Sorrow was etched into every aspect of his being. Expressions that had once been joyful became pained and guarded, a visage that had been radiant became haunted, and lips from which so many songs had passed in days of old pressed tightly against each other, shaking with grief. All the pain inside him was reflected upon his figure - and there was a great deal of pain. The death of Elessar had not treated him kindly.

Decades had passed since the king had died and Legolas had come to Valinor - or perhaps no more than a few months. Time flowed differently in the Grey Havens. Still, regardless of the years that had or had not passed, the aching in his chest had yet to heal.

At first, he had tried to overcome the grief. He had sought comfort in the arms of his mother, of his father, of all those elves which had once kept him company. Somehow, though, it was never enough. The fissure in his heart was too great to be healed by a kind word or soft touch; after all, much damage had been done when he had lost Aragorn. For so long, Legolas had deluded himself into thinking that he would be able to end his life as if he were human, a quick blade or broken heart carrying him first to Mandos and then to the path towards the garden of mortal souls. But when the time had come and his heart had hung heavy in chest and he had felt as though each breath was water instead of air, the darkness that came to him had refused to take him to the resting place for mortal souls, thereby wounding him beyond belief.

Some said later that he had pleaded with the Valar to take him to his lover so long that he had neither voice nor words left in him. It was also said that, since that day he had been given a new skin and sent to join his kin in the Undying Lands, he never stopped crying.

There was some truth in both these statements.

He hung like a voiceless wraith around the shores of the continent, bare feet buried in the sand. While so many others had found their loved ones and rekindled the joy of their past lives, he felt nothing but loss. Nothing was left to him but a cruel longing which twisted his heart and wrung tears from his hair and hands - only to force him to cover them both with visible grief once more. The love which had been a blessing to him was now a curse. Never could he be content with Valinor while the soul of his lover remained beyond his reach.

Yet time heals all things, and gradually his tears lessened. The pain began to fade. In the arms of his father he finally found solace, though to his mother he showed no favor. Often Legolas sought out Galadriel, and sat amongst the leaves with her when his heart allowed it. Oftener still did he keep the company of Elrond, a golden shadow in the great lord's wake. What had once been a twisting, stabbing pain in his chest dulled to the slow burn of well-concealed misery. And in a few decades, even that began to fade. He learned to smile once more.

The Greenleaf was welcomed, too, among the great bards and poets of the Eldar - though perhaps it is necessary to clarify this, for it was his _story_ they cherished, and not his silent and melancholy company. Few indeed could tolerate the wordless shadow that hung like a cloud of sorrow around doorways and half-closed windows and gardens in the rain.

But the tale, ah, the tale they loved. They took it and from it they spun verses of pure gold and a melancholy melody so pure it could not be rivaled. No one knew who it was to first sing _I Bent ne Brennyn Vein_, 'The Tale of the Two Lords Fair', but soon enough it had flown as if on the wings of grief from the grey harbors to the high mountains and back again. Legolas' story - that of an elf lost in paradise who sought only for his mortal love - was sung out by a hundred voices, then more, and then more still. As the ages flew by and voices continued to be raised in son, the Golden and the Grey-Eyed Lords and their immortal love became as legends.

Even as the finest voices of the Eldar spun his tale out of emerald chords and silver melodies, Legolas grew strong again. He took a harp in hand and from it he summoned music so filled with grief that all who heard it wept with joy and sorrow. In his father's court he played, and in the presence of Elrond and Galadriel and all the high-born elves who had known him in Middle Earth. Many came to hear his songs, and having nothing else to live for, he played for each and every one of them, refusing to turn a single one away even when the night fell upon the land and his fingers with broken-skinned and bloody. Thus did the son of the Elvenking rise to fame. Despite the renown and the music and the pleas of his father, however, he never said a word. Steadfast and silent he remained until the end of days.

But it was whispered among those who had heard him play and who had seen the haze of grief flicker over his eyes that if ever Legolas the Golden were to abandon his silence and sing but the first few notes of 'The Tale of the Two Lords Fair', the strength of his love alone would be enough to summon forth the Grey-eyed Lord and bear the two off into a distant land where lovers were never parted.


End file.
